Deep within the Painful Nest.
The air here was thick with a cloying, nauseating stench of blood and decay. Dim lamps, crafted from stripped souls, were among the few light sources, casting twisted shadows onto the ground covered in rugged bone and flesh.
After the previous night's riot and a full day of madness, the Half-breeds and Slaves were gradually regaining their reason, and fear of the "Trueborn" began to creep back into their hearts.
Just as they were feeling lost and uncertain...
A figure appeared in the distance. It was the human who had been hunted by the Trueborn Warrior Corps yesterday. Dressed in simple clothes, with an indescribable expression of grief on his face, he walked toward them step by step.
The light flowing in his eyes was neither pity nor arrogance, but something the Half-breeds and Slaves had never seen in Gomo.
"Empathy"!
"We met yesterday!"
Emrys spoke. His voice wasn't loud, yet it reached everyone's heart with startling clarity.
"I suspect some of you resent me in your hearts. You think it was I who incited everyone, caused all of this, and pushed you into the fire, don't you?"
The Half-breeds and Slaves surrounding him remained silent, but the flicker of resentment in their eyes spoke volumes.
"I can understand your thoughts!" Emrys didn't blame them; instead, he acknowledged their feelings.
However, his tone suddenly shifted.
"Think carefully, everyone. Who is the person you should truly resent? Is it me? Is it you? You? Or you?"
With every sentence, his gaze was as sharp as a knife, falling upon the faces of the Half-breeds and Slaves.
None dared to meet his eyes.
"We are all people walking on the edge of the abyss," he said in a low, approachable tone. "In Gomo, they tell us that pain is the only truth and fear is the only reward. Those high-and-mighty nobles call us 'livestock,' 'consumables,' and 'living toys.' Now... you tell me, who is the person you should truly resent?!"
From the silent crowd, a very low voice emerged.
"The nobles!"
Then, like a spark on a prairie, the voice spread rapidly.
"The nobles!"
"The nobles!"
"The nobles!"
Roars rose and fell, representing their anger and pain!
"Exactly, it's the nobles! Those high-and-mighty nobles! Those self-righteous nobles!" Watching this, Emrys spread his arms. His voice wasn't loud, but it was like a chisel, striking hard at everyone's heart. "But today, here, in this corner they've forgotten, I want to tell you a forbidden word—Dignity!"
Dignity?
Blank looks appeared on the faces of the Half-breeds and Slaves.
They had never heard this word since birth; it sounded like a story from a distant past.
But today, they heard it!
Their hearts, originally silent and blocked by thick barriers, felt a spark of movement!
"Dignity is not a charity bestowed by the Trueborn!"
Emrys continued to shout, his fists clenched and veins bulging from his temples like an agitated madman. "We have the obligation and the necessity to take back the rights that belong to us! Today, we can no longer remain silent! We must turn the blood and tears we once swallowed into arrows aimed at those nobles! Turn the scars carved into our souls into the brand of our unity!"
His voice was like boiling oil poured onto a blazing fire!
"We want to take back our dignity!"
Emrys suddenly pointed in one direction and roared, "Now, is there anyone brave enough to stand up and speak of your pain? Let this endless, pitch-black abyss know that we... are not voiceless!"
The Half-breeds and Slaves, who were enthusiastic just a moment ago, suddenly fell into silence.
Speak up?
How... should they say it?
They were lost in confusion.
Having been oppressed for so long, they had even forgotten how to express themselves.
Fortunately, Emrys had anticipated this and gave a subtle look toward a certain spot.
Thus, the "person" arranged in advance made his entrance.
It was a behemoth, his body extremely tall and sturdy, stumbling out from among the silent Half-breeds and Slaves.
He held up a right arm that had been modified into a hydraulic claw, his voice raspy like grinding gravel.
"I was once the champion of the Bloodhowl Arena. They gave me this iron arm and made me tear apart one companion after another. They cheered, betting with our blood and lives. But... do you know? That damned bastard, the Blood Singer Korion, do you know what he loved most?!"
He paused, the hydraulic claw letting out a piercing screech.
"He loved most to personally use a thermal blade to cut open my arm bit by bit after my victory, and then taste my muscles as they trembled from the intense pain. He said... that was the freshest 'taste of victory'!"
At this point, the burly man actually knelt on the ground and wept. "I also participated in yesterday's riot, and I don't regret it! Because you are right—why? Why should our flesh and blood become a delicacy for them to taste? And why should our lives be just a play to pass the time in their material rooms?!"
The Gladiator's anger was like a physical Impact, dispelling the fear of some.
Many Gladiator Slaves began to let out pained growls, using their modified parts to strike the ground forcefully, creating a dull resonance!
"Me, and me too!"
"I want to speak too!"
Soon, the Gladiator's actions triggered a massive wave of grievances!
Slaves and Half-breeds began to roar about the suffering they had endured.
Seeing this, Emrys knew the time had come. He shouted, "This is not one person's tragedy. This is a system—a system called Gomo, called the Nobility, built upon devouring the pain and dignity of us all!"
"When everyone's pain converges into collective hatred!"
"When our tears converge into a roaring tide!"
"Their seemingly indestructible high towers have already begun to shake!"
With that, Emrys waved his hand sharply.
"Bring him up!"
Korion, the Blood Singer, had his mouth sewn shut and was carried up by several people!
"Mmph, mmph—!"
He screamed in terror, his eyes filled with dread.
All around him were gazes filled with hatred, as chilling as being carved by a knife!
"Now, let us perform a ritual! This is not an offering to Loki, this is a rite—dedicated to ourselves!"
Emrys' gaze drifted to a certain spot as he said in a deep voice, "Shout out the most painful memories from the depths of your hearts! Spit out your long-buried hatred! I hand him over to you—this evil exploiter, this once high-and-mighty Blood Singer—for you to deal with!"
"Crush him—!"
The crowd was silent at first.
Then, the first Half-breed lunged forward, tearing a piece of flesh from the Blood Singer Korion with his teeth.
Immediately after, a second, then a third...
"For my daughter!"
A human slave cried out, throwing a piece of iron.
"For my melted eyes!"
A Half-breed roared, hurling a dagger.
"For the three hundred years of my life I lost!"
Stones, spit, and the most vicious curses poured down on Korion like a rainstorm.
This was the power of the collective.
Korion had become the perfect "prop"; he would be the most crucial sacrifice to unify this power!
When the weak find the right path and are willing to act upon it, transforming justice into enduring strength, they can create a Nice View in the midst of despair!
In the midst of Eternity's darkness, even a momentary spark of light lit by oneself is better than eternal servitude.
The wind is rising... Emrys turned his gaze toward the dark towers in the distance.
I wonder if those high-and-mighty nobles are prepared?
Prepared to face the Raging fire from the bottom!
It was different now!
That was Verion's most immediate feeling.
If, not long ago, the Half-breeds and the Slaves had looked to him like scattered sand—utterly incapable of resisting the absolute authority of the Conspiracy Group—then the Half-breeds and Slaves of this moment were completely transformed.
If he had to name what, exactly, had changed…
It was their eyes.
Yes, their eyes were different.
Once, those eyes had held only bewilderment, helplessness, a gray hopelessness—empty, like walking corpses.
But now?
Now there was light in their eyes!
It was hope for the future, hope for survival, a yearning for something better!
Emrys' voice had ignited the long-buried spark of beauty inside them.
And as that spark flared, these walking corpses—who had long ago lost their dignity, their very notion of what it meant to be human and to live—felt their dormant fury blaze anew.
One person's rage can be ignored.
But the wrath of ten, of a hundred, of a thousand, of ten thousand?
That fury, suppressed for ten thousand years, had become a roaring deluge—one that would swallow Gomo's rigid castes and crush any daemons or spirits foolish enough to stand in its way.
No one could stop this tide.
Not Verion, and not even—Emrys.
Watching the crowd whose fury was now fully kindled, Emrys' eyes glinted with an unreadable light.
He knew what he was doing was—despicable.
He had exploited all of this, and his purpose was far from the pure ideals he proclaimed. This "Terrible war" would devour all of Gomo.
But he felt no regret.
Or rather, for humanity's sake, he did not regret using such deception to achieve a world-shaking goal.
He would weave a lie for these people.
A lie drenched in sacrifice and blood, a lie whose upheaval would bury millions of lives—and he himself would be its architect.
He—Emrys—might, after all this, be remembered as the most evil being in the history of the Milky Way Galaxy, and indeed, all of Gomo.
Drawing a deep breath, Emrys noticed the fervor blazing in Verion's eyes.
No doubt the man was already fantasizing: once this force toppled the Iron Thorn Conspiracy and the black-Heart Conspiracy, the Durukali family would rule Gomo anew, and he himself would become a legend.
A cold glint flickered across Emrys' gaze.
Pity that, in the future Emrys had promised Verion, the Durukali family would indeed return to power—but the one sitting upon the throne would not be Verion.
"It's over—we're finished!"
"You shouldn't have done that!"
"Yeah, you killed the Trueborn and the Blood Singer—now we're utterly doomed!"
Amid the fervor, a few jarring, discordant voices rang out like alarm bells in their hearts.
True, they were furious.
But the darkness that had shrouded Gomo for ten millennia—and the terror etched into their bones—could not be dispelled by a handful of words.
Seeing this, Emrys showed no fear; instead, he walked straight toward the source of those voices.
"W-what are you doing?"
It was an ancient half-elder, one eye gouged out, his spine nearly exposed—an appalling sight. He shrank back, trembling. "D-did I say anything wrong? By inciting them to kill the Trueborn, you'll only bring the Conspiracy Group's vengeance upon us—everyone here will die! Am I wrong?!"
"No, you're not wrong."
Emrys' tone was gentle, without a trace of anger. "And I won't hide it: soon the Conspiracy Group will muster an even stronger force to carry out retaliatory slaughter here."
Verion's heart lurched; his face changed dramatically.
He couldn't understand why Emrys insisted on telling these "Lowly worms" such truths at this critical moment.
He had only just stirred their fury; speaking the plain truth now would surely make them cower in dread and shrink back!
And indeed, though they had been angry, many now wavered and trembled at the blunt revelation.
"I know many of you are still hesitating, still afraid, still worried,"
Emrys stepped forward into the crowd; his gaze, like fire, swept across every face. "So I'll give you a choice—the only, the final choice!"
A choice?
The fearful crowd quieted, every eye fixing on him, waiting.
From the shadows, Verion felt a sudden jolt of alarm.
This human's prestige was greater than he'd imagined—just a few sentences and the frenzied "insects" fell silent.
"Hand me over."
Emrys spread his arms as if to embrace them, tone calm, conversational. "The Iron Thorn Conspiracy wants me; I'm the one who incited you to kill the Trueborn, the one trying to topple the Nobles—hand me over and it all ends."
Foolish!
Utterly, ridiculously foolish!
Verion, hidden in the dark, was seething. The hard-won situation was about to be ruined!
Who would follow a man marching straight to his death?
Every previous agitator had concealed the truth; only lies could keep these lowly Half-breeds and Slaves obediently dying for the cause.
"How stupid—" Verion's eyes filled with disappointment; he had lost all hope in Emrys. "Perhaps I should negotiate with the Conspiracy Group before they arrive—"
While Verion weighed his escape,
Emrys suddenly raised his voice to a roar. "Well? What are you waiting for? Hand me over—maybe they'll spare your lives, right?!"
His sharp gaze fixed on the crippled, half-blind elder. "You think so too, don't you? Then hand me over. I won't resist. If my death buys your lives, I'll gladly pay it."
His words struck like a hammer.
The old half-elf's lips quivered, pupils shaking. He had seen countless demagogues willing to spend other lives for their ambition—yet never a human willing to give his own life for them.
Emrys knew mere words could never "awaken conscience" in these people.
Those raised amid darkness, conspiracy, and mutual deceit would not hesitate to trade conscience and morals for survival.
So he detonated his second "Bomb".
"What are you still hesitating for?"
His voice dropped, accusatory. "Hand me over, kneel again, offer your lives, dignity, and freedom to the Nobles—let them trample you like beasts—and you'll live, won't you?"
The words stabbed like thorns into their hearts.
"We are NOT beasts!"
Someone ground out the cry.
Then a second, a third—until every last one of them, eyes blazing with defiance, shouted that they were not the livestock of the Nobles!
"We—are NOT beasts!"
A titanic roar surged sky-high!
Emrys turned, mounting step after step soaked in pain and blood, until he stood aloft and looked down upon the countless faces twisted by hatred, fear, and hope.
His voice, low and razor-clear, echoed like a summons from the abyss; every soul had to strain to catch it.
"Beasts!"
"Mongrels!"
"The Dregs of Gomo, Consumables, Living Toys—"
"That's what they call us, isn't it?"
Emrys paused, eyes blazing, swept the sea of contorted faces, then thundered.
"But I tell you—they are WRONG! Dead wrong!"
"We are NOT Dregs!"
"We are the living proof of every crime they ever committed!"
"We are NOT Consumables!"
"We are the Bedrock of Gomo! The Masters who built this metropolis! The Bricks that bled for their luxury, every drop of life squeezed out!"
"Yet why—why do they still see us as Ants, as lowborn Mongrels? Because of YOU! Your cowardice!"
"Why are you cowards?"
Emrys' challenge cracked like lightning inside their hearts.
"Why do you refuse to rise? Fear of their cruelty? Dread of the Blood Singers? Or merely clinging to a wretched existence?"
Shame flickered in many eyes.
"But it's not your fault." Emrys spread his arms as if to embrace all suffering, voice heavy yet soaring.
"Let me tell you why—you never dared fight because you didn't know WHAT to fight for, WHY to fight, or FOR WHOM!"
What to fight for?
Why to fight?
For whom—?
Three simple questions, yet they left the crowd lost.
"Let me answer!"
Emrys' voice exploded like thunder in their skulls.
"We fight for ourselves! For liberation! For our kin, our friends, our children—so they need not live in this darkness any longer!"
BOOM!
The words ripped through their numb despair like a bolt of lightning.
"We fight for the future."
"I dream of a future Gomo—not as the city of darkness, but as the city of light for the entire Milky Way Galaxy, where no class crushes another, no bloodline is despised, and no lofty Nobles sneer from above!"
"Every soul born here shall be equal!"
"We fight for freedom! For dignity!"
"We will shatter the old castes!"
"And forge—a NEW future!"
Each sentence climbed higher, fiercer; his knuckles whitened as if to smash the black sky, every word a meteor, veins bulging on his forehead.
The lost felt new strength flood their limbs.
Emrys' speech had pointed them toward an uncharted path—thorny, shadowed, yet radiant with hope.
"Look at the comrade beside you—his scars, have you not worn the same?"
The despair in his eyes—has it not once burned in you?
Our pain is never solitary!
Our blood flows in different bodies yet drains into the same abyss!
Our tears are shed for different Masters, yet all taste the same bitterness!"
Emrys pressed himself into their agony, painting every sorrow they had endured.
Some wept, some cursed.
"Why fear them?"
He drew a sharp breath, voice turning caustic with contempt.
"Those Parasites calling themselves Trueborn? They think they're gods? No—Maggots cowering in the Webway's darkest cracks, gorging on our pain, our dread, the shards of our very souls!"
With a near-roar he declared.
"Where is THEIR nobility? WE are the noble ones! Every joy they savour is built upon our agony!"
Then, low and lethal.
"No—the ones who should be afraid are THEY—"
"Why do they strangle you?"
"Because they're terrified! They dare not let us unite, dare not let us realise—we OUTNUMBER them!"
Yes—our numbers dwarf theirs!
The realisation spread: the Nobles and Trueborn were pitifully few.
"You ask what lies ahead?"
Emrys' tone turned solemn, almost holy.
"I will not lie—ahead lie blood, sacrifice, and for many of us, myself included, perhaps no tomorrow's Sun—"
"But—!"
"Our blood shall no longer be wine upon their table! Our deaths shall not be forgotten dust! Those who fall will become an everlasting dawn within Gomo, an undying light for the future!"
Fists clenched, eyes aflame, he declared.
"Now two roads lie before you—
"First: crawl back into your cages, kneel, lick the scraps they drop, pray you're not the next dragged to torment. 'Live'—if you can call that living!"
Second: stand! Follow me!
"Choose this path of sacrifice!"
"Remember: this time you fight not for another's power, but for your brother! For the fallen! For the dignity stolen from you! For—a brilliant future!"
"We shall be the sharpest blade, shredding noble rule, the nightmare that keeps them sleepless!"
"Fight—for freedom!"
"Fight—for a bright future!"
"Screw them UP!!"
Emotion peaked like a breaking wave!
Emrys surveyed the crowd, voice ringing with irresistible command.
"Today we cease to be scattered individuals; we are one body, one will! My will is yours; your fury is mine!"
"We shall have a name!"
"The Free Liberation Front!"
"When I shout that name, answer with your very soul!"
By now his voice was hoarse, yet he summoned one last, deafening roar.
"Tell me—who will be the Gravediggers of the Nobles?"
"WE WILL!!"
"Who will wash away our shame with Trueborn blood?!"
"WE WILL!!"
"Who will seize mastery of their fate, if only for an instant?!"
"WE WILL!
WE WILL!
WE WILL!!!"
Amid the frenzy Emrys pronounced the final verdict.
"Then step forward, all who will stay. Swear by our shared pain, by our common hate. We may die, yet the will for freedom—NEVER DIES!"
"Today we march not toward death; we march toward immortality!"
"And I will be the first to fall!"
"To my last breath—for free will, for a bright future—FIGHT ON!!!"
"Pioneer!"
"Pioneer!"
"Pioneer!!!"
The establishment of the Free Liberation Front marked the plan entering a brand-new stage.
As the man who spearheaded it all, Merlin Emrys was naturally and unsurprisingly elected as the leader of the organization.
His generous, passionate, and emotionally charged speeches were spontaneously turned into ballads, sung and spread among the Slaves and bottom-tier Half-breeds in the Painful Nest and all surrounding areas!
He himself was also bestowed with many titles.
For example: Great Mentor of Freedom, Hope of the Half-breeds, Savior of the Slaves, Liberator of Gomo, Pioneer... and so on.
With the establishment of the "Free Liberation Front," Emrys also found himself with much more work.
Was it difficult?
It was difficult in some ways, but who told him he had experience to draw from?
Thus, Emrys moved into deep-level reforms, ranging from the ideological level to the organizational structure.
He built an ideology, identified enemies, and broke down the rigid thoughts of bloodline and class.
Then, he established the organization, identified the types of core personnel and backbones to be recruited, and unified the front.
He made them understand what they were fighting for!
At the same time, he established the recruitment of Half-breeds and Slaves as the basic personnel structure of the organization, assigning different tasks based on their strengths.
During meetings, Emrys also proposed that their goal was to break the resource monopoly of the noble class, create an equal and free society, eliminate differences between bloodlines and races, and oppose the system of oppression!
The organization existed in the form of multiple associations, with each association selecting a leader. This would also maximize the prevention of being "wiped out in one go."
Next was the top priority... military power!
Emrys knew well that to overthrow the massive noble class system, mere words were useless; they had to have absolute martial force!
Thus, he selected young and strong individuals from among these Slaves and Half-breeds to form the first batch of military forces.
Although their combat power was low, their advantage lay in the fact that they were young!
Precisely because they were young, they would firmly believe in the ideology!
However, there was still a very serious problem that Emrys had to solve.
And that was... money!
The Free Liberation Front had just been established, and the Painful Nest, as the "Base," had absorbed a large number of initial personnel.
This meant he had to satisfy tens of thousands of mouths!
Looking at the compiled list of "Material" requirements, even Emrys couldn't help but feel a headache.
On the long list of materials, two words were clearly marked... give money!
So, after some thought, Emrys found Verion, this "Angel investor."
"You mean... let me pay to support these lowly fellows?!"
Verion stared dumbfounded at the long list of materials, feeling like he was going crazy.
He had some money, but it couldn't be squandered like this, could it?
Moreover, he stared suspiciously at Emrys.
"I remember you said before... that you were quite wealthy?"
""
He had worked hard to accumulate his family fortune over many years and was loath to throw it away, especially on these bottom-tier mongrels.
"Lord Verion, are you sure... you want me to pay?" Emrys stepped forward, put an arm around his shoulder, and said meaningfully, "Have you thought it through? Don't say I didn't warn you. I could pay to support them, but the problem is... if the nobles are overthrown in the future, they might not necessarily recognize you, Lord Verion."
Verion's heart suddenly skipped a beat.
Right, why hadn't he thought of that?
Combined with the scene from two days ago when Emrys incited these bottom-tier mongrels to riot and could silence them with a single word, he felt a bit panicked. With Emrys' current prestige, once they succeeded... would he really be able to control Gomo in the future?
That would certainly be impossible!
"You, you're right" Verion felt his throat go dry. While feeling fear, he also looked at Emrys with a bit of gratitude.
If Emrys hadn't taken the initiative to say it, he would probably still be in the dark!
Emrys is a good man!
He had previously used malice to speculate about Emrys, but now it seemed he had completely overthought it.
If Emrys weren't sincere, how could he have told him?
"Lord Verion, don't worry about a little bit of loss right now."
Emrys patted his shoulder firmly and said earnestly, "You have to look to the future. If you join our organization now in the name of the heir to the Durukali family and provide them with supplies, are you still worried about not having prestige? When you seize the supreme power of Gomo in the future, who else but you will be qualified to become the Master of Gomo?"
As he spoke, he lowered his voice.
"Think carefully, Lord Verion. In the future, as a human, it's definitely impossible for me to become the Master of Gomo. If you're unwilling to part with such a small amount of supplies now, then it might be hard to say in the future, don't you think?"
Verion followed his line of reasoning and thought Emrys was right!
Right now, this organization was just established, and he had to take this opportunity to establish his own prestige within the organization!
"Yes, you're right!"
Thinking of this, Verion steeled his heart, glanced at the material list, and gritted his teeth, "It's just a little bit of money, right? I'll give it!"
"Good! Straightforward!"
Emrys immediately gave a thumbs up.
"As expected of the heir to the Durukali family, you have such boldness! Such courage! With a leader like you, I believe we will definitely succeed!"
The first wave of supplies arrived quickly.
Emrys gathered the first batch of "Cadres" he had personally selected within the organization and distributed the supplies.
He also set a requirement that corruption would never be allowed, or there would be severe punishment.
At the same time, Emrys followed this trend and, in the name of the "Supplies," packaged "Verion" as a naturally awakened, noble Blood Singer with compassion, serving as a banner for the organization to the outside world!
The heir to the Durukali family bloodline—what a great banner! How could he not use it?
Finally, with the internal reorganization over, Emrys could finally take a break.
But it was foreseeable that next, the Free Liberation Front would need to face a true test!
And this test came from the "Iron Thorn Conspiracy."
Only through the tempering of blood and fire could they truly grow into a qualified army!
Now, he just needed to wait.
Waiting for the "Iron Thorn Conspiracy's" suppression, he would also let other Half-breeds and Slaves in the bottom-tier communities who were still watching see what kind of powerful force would erupt when they were united!
They had to win this battle, and they could only win!
Confidence needs to be accumulated. If this battle were lost, it would take a long time to create such a situation again.
Unfortunately, Emrys didn't have that much time, so he needed to "push" things a bit.
"It's time"
Emrys took a deep breath; he had to be fully prepared.
"Terax, go tell Maximus... say that I need their strength!"
This was all thanks to Gomo's low and sluggish administrative efficiency.
It wasn't until Emrys had finished integrating the Free Liberation Front, perfected the organizational structure, and expanded the personnel and military strength that those upper-class nobles, who knew only pleasure all day long, finally received the news that the Zhen Sheng Zi Warriors had been completely wiped out.
This included the Painful Nest located in the Skull-Cracking Corridor, where a large number of lower-class uprisings had broken out.
A large number of Half-breeds and Slaves had killed the personnel sent to watch over them. With the Painful Nest as their core base, they launched armed raids on the surrounding areas, occupying and seizing several important facilities.
Among them were the factories that produced desires like pain, as well as the 'Breeding Womb' of the Blood Singers!
These two could be called the lifeblood of the upper class!
The factories that produced desire were the fundamental basis for the upper class' survival and the foundation upon which they could immerse themselves in pleasure.
Once they lost the supply from these sources of pain, it wouldn't be long before... their rotting souls would be sucked dry by Slaanesh!
The other, the 'Breeding Womb', was an important facility modified by the Blood Singers for the mass production of Half-breeds.
Upon learning this news, the nobles voiced their protests one after another and sought out the Grand Arbiter of the Iron Thorn Conspiracy—Meshal!
Meshal Kelisbar was a figure in the Iron Thorn Conspiracy whose status was second only to the Archon.
Given that for most of the time, the Archon of the Iron Thorn Conspiracy, Gregory Hernandez, remained behind the scenes, most affairs were left to this Grand Arbiter to decide.
Dozens of noble Elders entered the Conspiracy Group's palace.
On the cold Wraithbone Throne, Meshal, known as 'Evil Heart', tapped his fingertips against the armrest, making a rhythmic 'patter' that made one's soul tremble!
Below him was a holographic image.
It was playing a scene of a naturally bred Trueborn warrior of noble blood being smashed into meat paste with crude weapons by enraged Slaves.
"Lord Meshal, this is simply a provocation against us!"
"Exactly! They actually dared to kill a Trueborn. This is no longer an ordinary riot; we must strike back with a heavy hand!"
The nobles below were all clamoring, demanding severe punishment for these damned, lowly ants!
But Meshal, sitting in the high seat, stared at the rioting Slaves in the image, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.
"Interesting."
His voice was like the flicking tongue of a venomous snake, causing the temperature inside the entire palace to drop suddenly!
Cold and damp!
"Mere beasts dare to show their fangs to us?"
Meshal sneered. He noticed that familiar figure in the holographic image.
"Is it him?"
"Heh, although I don't know what you're trying to do, but... thinking you can challenge the Conspiracy Group with just these beasts is simply too naive."
He thought of the order previously issued by Archon Gregory Hernandez to kill Emrys, and an idea immediately formed in his mind.
"It seems this 'Great Harvest' is imperative."
A terrifying chill gathered in Meshal's eyes, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue.
"This time, I will personally taste their despair. Everyone, rest assured... this is but a small problem. I can guarantee you it will be resolved very soon."
The nobles below were instantly relieved.
With Meshal's guarantee, they believed those damned, lowly beasts would soon be completely slaughtered!
"Kailebor."
Meshal called out toward the darkness.
This was his most notorious Hunting Sir, who held the 'reputation' of being The Skinner.
"Sir!" Kailebor knelt on one knee, a cruel light flickering in his crimson eyepieces. "Please grant me this honor. My squad will trample the nest where they are located. We will take those who dare to challenge authority and, without leaving a single one... skin them whole and present them before your throne!"
"Very well, go then, Kailebor."
Meshal waved his hand as if shooing away a fly. "Let these beasts understand that the order of Gomo is not to be provoked. I want to hear their wails echoing through the entire Lower District."
"Yes, Sir!"
Kailebor grinned hideously and slowly left the palace.
He was going to assemble his squad and use a cruel massacre to warn the beasts in other sectors!
Meanwhile, deep within the Painful Nest.
Anna, a Succubus skilled in infiltration and intelligence gathering, brought back the latest news for everyone.
"The Iron Thorn Conspiracy's hunting squad has moved out," Anna said with a hint of urgency in her tone. "The leader is 'The Skinner' Kailebor. A full-strength Bloodthirsty Squad is expected to arrive here in four hours!"
"The Skinner?!" Gladiator Gork was startled upon hearing this. He clenched his massive fists, his hard bones and cybernetic augmentations letting out a series of cracks. "I've heard of him. He's an extremely cruel bastard who likes to skin his prey whole and turn them into trophies!"
Moreover, a full-strength hunting squad put a lot of pressure on them!
This wasn't like the Warrior Corps from last time; this was a well-trained hunting squad with extensive combat experience.
With the experience from last time, they would certainly be well-equipped this time.
Thinking of this, Emrys fixed his gaze on a crudely made map and observed it for a long time.
The entrance to the Painful Nest was the 'Fang Trail', which was also the only entrance—very narrow. Further in was the settlement, which contained many chaotic buildings, especially the 'Wraithbone Tomb'. It was surrounded by high ground on all sides, with only the center being low, making it perfect for an ambush!
Emrys immediately came up with a plan and turned to look at the first batch of the organization's backbone. His voice carried a strange power, as if it could soothe people's hearts.
"Everyone, there's no need to panic. Didn't we already expect that the enemy would surely retaliate?"
Hearing this, the people who were still a bit nervous just a moment ago calmed down considerably.
"Just as we predicted, the enemy is coming, but... they are coming with arrogance!"
Emrys' tone was steady, as if everything was under control. "In their eyes, we are still a disorganized mess. We'll tremble before their butcher knives just like in the past, stretching out our necks to be killed."
He paused, his finger pointing at the crude map in front of him. "But today, we are going to teach them a lesson!"
"Tell them that we... are different!"
"We are no longer the 'beasts' they can slaughter at will!"
"Lils!"
"H-Pioneer, I'm here!"
Lils was a resilient Eldar female and one of the core members elected for logistics.
"I want you to evacuate the disabled and the young gathered in the Painful Nest in the shortest time possible," Emrys said. "This is war. We must protect these people. Can you do it?"
"I can, Pioneer!" Lils responded loudly.
"Gork!"
Immediately after, Emrys' voice suddenly rose.
"Present!"
This former arena champion, a tall man with a modified right arm, spoke with a voice like a booming bell.
"You will lead the first, second, and third squads. Take all the captured weapons and concussion bombs we currently possess and set an ambush at the 'Fang Trail'," Emrys said in a low voice. "Remember, you are only allowed to lose, not win! Fight and retreat, and lure that mad dog Kailebor and his squad to the Wraithbone Tomb for me!"
"Understood! I get it! Luring the enemy in deep!"
Gork grinned, revealing a hideous smile.
"Anna!" Emrys turned his gaze elsewhere.
"I'm here." The Succubus nodded slightly.
"You and the first batch of trained Half-breed female warriors will wait until they have all passed, then block off the Fang Trail!" Emrys' voice was stern. "I don't care what method you use, cut off their retreat. I want to annihilate this squad!"
"As you wish"
Anna licked her lips, revealing a seductive smile.
Then, Emrys' gaze swept across all the core members present, finally settling on the lethal encirclement on the map—the Wraithbone Tomb!
"Everyone else will be under my direct command!"
His voice was extremely resolute as he slammed his fist onto the table. "This time, we will prove to our bastard compatriots that even those as small as us can defeat them!"
Unlike the usually bustling Skullsplitter Corridor, Emrys had already ordered the ruler Blood Singer Verion to forcibly evacuate its residents.
When Kailebor's hunting squad followed the spirit-bone road—paved atop the colossal, nameless beast's remains—along the outer corridor into Painful Nest, they found the place deserted.
All they saw were scattered traces and a faint, lingering scent of blood in the air.
'Hmph, true rats,' Kailebor sneered, spitting in contempt. 'They bolted the moment they caught our scent.'
The surrounding hunters burst into derisive laughter.
A quick-witted Trueborn Zhen Shengzi Warrior crouched, examined the tracks, and declared confidently, 'lord, the signs show they fled deeper in, not long ago, panicked and numerous.'
'Well done.'
Kailebor shot him an approving glance.
'After them!' He drew his venomous scimitar, split tongue licking crimson lips, baring a bloodthirsty grin. 'I'll make them repent in despair, cursing the day they committed the Unforgiven sin!'
'Yes, Mr.!'
The hunters readied themselves for slaughter.
An air of breezy cheer spread among them, their words dripping scorn, as if they already saw those lowly beasts kneeling and begging for mercy.
'No one fight me for it—I'm claiming ten today!'
'Only ten? Haha… I'm taking twenty!'
'Shall we bet on it?'
'You're on!'
'Heh-heh, why count kills? I care about quality. Just learned some tricks from the Blood Singer—perfect time to test them.'
'Exactly. I'm ready to savor their "pain"!'
The hunters jabbered, planning the coming slaughter.
None, Kailebor included, saw anything wrong with it.
Worry?
Not a chance.
They were the elite hunting squad.
And their foes? Nothing but lowly beasts.
Each year saw hundreds of such suppression runs; they could do it blindfolded.
So what if a few beasts rioted?
Thus, steeped in disdain, Kailebor led his hunters straight into the grave prepared for them.
Soon after entering Painful Nest, scattered resistance met them: poorly armed Slaves, some clutching pipes, led by a hulking man with hydraulic pincers—the only real threat.
Yet against Kailebor's elite, the Slaves' stand was suicide.
The moment fire was exchanged, several terrified Slaves broke cover, ignoring Gork's orders, and were gunned down by the agile Zhen Sheng Zi Warriors dancing like flames.
The Zhen Sheng Zi Warriors wove through gunfire; their light armor made them hard to track, and within minutes Gork's line collapsed beneath the hunters' onslaught.
'Haha, that's it?'
A Trueborn twirled his blade, hauled a slave close, and slowly slit the wretch's throat.
He flashed Gork a savage grin, drawing a finger across his own neck—You're next.
'Bastards!'
Gork ground his teeth, eyes bloodshot.
He roared at the sight of his butchered comrades, 'Pull back—now!'
Pain. Fury.
Seeped into bone and skin once more.
Gork had always known the gulf between Slaves and Trueborn.
He knew his task was to lure them in.
But the gap was a chasm.
Trenches, traps, ambush—still the hunters smashed through with ease.
It had been a massacre.
Staring at the corpses, Gork cursed his weakness and pinned his hopes on the Pioneer's plan.
'Seventy-two…' he swore, eyes locked on the gloating hunters. 'I'll remember every one.'
The mixed band retreated under Gork's command.
Slaves and Half-breeds, they'd folded like sheep to the slaughter.
And that only hardened Kailebor's contempt: these beasts had merely fluked a few kills.
'Pursue—leave none alive!' He flicked blood from his scimitar, petals of dark bloom on the ground.
He would teach them a brutal lesson: beasts must never challenge Gomo's order.
He would carve fear into their very bones.
Kailebor charged ahead, heedless of the surroundings.
Only when they entered a vast graveyard of broken pipes and tombs did they realize the fleeing Slaves had vanished; silence reigned save for the hiss of leaking gas.
A sudden dread seized Kailebor's heart.
A veteran of countless wars, the Drukhari at once saw the trap: open ground ringed by gas pipes—perfect for an ambush.
Everything felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Sweat beaded his brow; he refused to believe the lowly beasts dared set a trap, yet instinct screamed danger.
Hand signalled, he hissed, 'Hold formation—pull back, slow and wary.'
But it was too late.
Emrys, hidden in the shadows, had no intention of letting them leave.
'Open fire—'
Just as Kailebor sensed something was wrong and wanted his squad to retreat in an orderly fashion...
Emrys, who had been waiting in the shadows, let out a thunderous roar from the resonance of his chest and throat.
"fire!"
Boom—!!!
Earth-shattering explosions erupted one after another, weaving together like a symphony of destruction!
Concussion bombs, pre-placed around the Fen Jia and along the route, were detonated simultaneously!
These Concussion bombs weren't designed for high lethality; they were specifically modified to target the Wraithbone resonance devices of the Drukhari!
In the epicenter of the blast, the heavy Wraithbone floor rippled like a calm lake hit by a boulder, sending visible waves outward as countless dust particles mixed with bone fragments were blasted into the sky, forming a thick smoke screen of death!
Following closely behind was the violent Impact!
Like an invisible wall, it swept in all directions at terrifying supersonic speeds.
The air was extremely compressed, emitting a piercing sonic boom that dealt unprecedented damage to the sensitive senses of the Trueborn within the blast zone!
The purpose of these Concussion bombs wasn't to wipe out the Trueborn in one go.
In fact, it was extremely difficult to kill the Zhen Sheng Zi Warriors all at once using traps or ambushes.
Emrys' goal was to disrupt their senses and create chaos!
"Arghhh—!"
"My eyes!"
"My ears!"
The piercing sonic boom from the explosion and the Wraithbone resonance shock threw the Zhen Sheng Zi Warriors into a brief state of extreme chaos!
The Impact generated by the Wraithbone resonance ignored their sophisticated armor, acting directly on their inner ears and soft internal organs.
Caught off guard, the Trueborn warriors felt the world spinning around them, overcome by a wave of nausea.
The nimble footwork and agile movements they took such pride in became clumsy and stumbling.
Even worse, their sensors were overwhelmed by intense energy interference and covered in dust, leaving their tactical visors filled with white noise.
In such chaos, their formation? It was a joke, completely torn to shreds!
And Emrys had been waiting for this exact moment!
"For freedom! For dignity! Kill—!!!"
As Emrys' psychic-infused roar echoed through the communication channel across the Fen Jia, the Half-breeds and Slaves who had been lurking in the shadows for so long lunged like ancient, ferocious beasts at their prey. Their roars and battle cries drowned out the echoes of the explosions, signaling the start of the general offensive!
While Kailebor's Hunting squad was disoriented by the Concussion bombs and their formation was in disarray...
Warriors lying in wait on high ground and behind concealed cover opened fire. Clutching old Laser rifles, they pulled their triggers in rage, firing indiscriminately down at the Trueborn who had once oppressed them.
These Laser rifles were old and had all been provided by Emrys.
But even the oldest Laser rifles were still "Laser weapons," and piercing the armor of mere Drukhari was no problem!
Soon, a dense hail of light beams rained down from the heights in all directions onto the chaotic Hunting squad.
Beams of light interlaced in the air, weaving a three-dimensional web of fire with no blind spots.
Pfft! Pfft!
The sound of laser beams piercing armor and searing flesh made the already chaotic Hunting squad even more terrified.
They never expected they would fall into a trap set by these lowly beasts!
A Trueborn attempting to deploy an energy shield was hit by at least a dozen laser shots from different directions; the shield overloaded and vanished instantly, and he was riddled with holes by the messy, dense beams!
"Don't panic! Calm down! Stay calm!"
Kailebor was still trying to re-establish command.
But the Hunting squad, completely plunged into chaos, was like fish thrown into a boiling pan. Every second, they were hit by fire from unknown directions, and the energy shields they relied on for survival were rapidly depleting!
"Damn it!" Kailebor roared in fury, brandishing his Scimitar as he tried to charge out.
"Follow me! Break through!"
His words acted like a shot of adrenaline to the chaotic Hunting squad.
Instantly, the panicked Trueborn gathered around their leader, establishing a rudimentary defensive line.
But the suppressive fire was only the beginning!
The real threat was the Melee unit led by Gork, who charged forward fearlessly under the cover of the long-range fire!
"Go to hell, Trueborn!" An Ork slave roared, using a crude Melta-axe to smash through a Trueborn's shield. With undiminished force, he split open the chest plate until the searing heat melted the Trueborn's body!
In turn, his own head was severed by the poisoned Scimitars of other Zhen Sheng Zi Warriors.
But in the second before his death, the Ork slave grinned and pulled the pin on a Melta-bomb.
Boom!
The intense heat instantly engulfed several Zhen Sheng Zi Warriors!
At the same time, the Half-breed warriors showed their nimble side, tearing into the Trueborn like a pack of frenzied hyenas.
Using crude captured blades or homemade weapons, they specifically targeted the gaps in the Trueborns' armor.
They didn't seek a fatal blow, only to... create the slightest opening for those who followed!
Amidst the flash of blades, severed limbs and blood splattered everywhere.
As a battle-hardened veteran, "The Skinner" Kailebor endured the dizziness, his Scimitar moving in an impenetrable blur as he beheaded two Half-breed warriors attempting to close in. His ferocious eyes scanned the battlefield for high-value targets.
He knew that to win this battle, he had to find the enemy Commander!
Finally, he saw him!
It was the target... Emrys!
That human was actually standing not far away, his pale gold eyes coldly watching the slaughter.
"Emrys—!!!"
Enraged, Kailebor hacked through the surrounding Half-breeds and shot toward Emrys like a bolt of lightning!
If only he could kill Emrys, all of this would end!
However... just as Kailebor was cutting down everyone in his path, killing over a dozen beasts who stood before him, and was on the verge of reaching Emrys, a terrifying whistling sound accompanied by a frightening sonic boom swept toward him!
His instinctual sense of mortality allowed Kailebor to react within fractions of a second; he forcibly twisted his waist and lunged away from the ground to avoid it.
Boom!
The ground shook as if struck by a meteorite, and a shockwave surged outward amidst the violent tremors!
Within the rising dust, an incredibly burly figure stood tall, taking steps that made one's heart skip a beat.
"Your opponent... is me."
The man had a buzz cut and appeared quite old, his face covered in deep wrinkles and his eyes filled with profound weariness.
"A human?"
Kailebor stared warily at the brawny man, crouching low as he gripped his blade.
"Who are you?"
"Remember this: I'm your daddy, Theoris!"
Theoris cracked his knuckles with a crisp pop. As if stretching his limbs, he beckoned Kailebor with his index finger and grinned ferociously.
"Come on, you little brat, let your see what you're made of!"